In the Name of the Queen
by absoluteParadox
Summary: Peter Kirkland was found on a New York Beach, claiming he had know recollection of the events in his past. But he remembered every detail. And England, France, and America are all missing some very important artifacts. Rated T for guns & cross dressing.
1. Chapter 1

Peter Kirkland washed up on the beach with the morning sand dollars. He checked to make sure all his possessions were. When he was satisfied, the managed to muster a quick, sad smile as he closed his eyes. His head met the wet sand with a dull thud.

When he woke up it was because of the voices. Adult voices. He quickly shut his eyes again. intact

"Should we go through his bag? We might find something with his name on it..."

"Absolutely not! That's immoral and probably illegal!"

Yes, Adult Number Two was definitely his favorite. _Don't go through my stuff._

"But we need to find his parents!"

Oh, craptastic. He'd have a hard time arguing with that, wouldn't he. He needed to distract them. _Think, Peter! What does an American Accent sound like, again?_

"Mmm... Where am I?"

"He's awake!"

"W-where...?"

"You're at social services. Just stay calm."


	2. Chapter 2

"Can you tell us anything you remember?"

"Well, there was the cruise ship ... and falling over the side..." Peter watched their eyes closely. They were buying it! What a good liar he was. Now if only he could channel the lies into getting his way... Uncle Francis would be impressed.

Fake tears rolled down his face. "I don't remember much else - must have hit my head..."

Adult Number One turned to Adult Number Two. "What are we gonna do with him? The poor kid probably has amnesia."

"Let's call the boss." He picked up a phone. "Ma'am? Yes ma'am! No, he doesn't remember much of anything except falling off a cruise ship. I can look into family lines that passed through the general area and - yes. He's fine. Just a couple bumps and bruises. He says he thinks his name is Peter Kirkland, but it's all a bit fuzzy."

Peter pulled his duffle bag closer to him on the metal filling cabinet on which he was sitting on.

"Middelton? I know children should be in school, but the kid has amnesia, and we can't find his parents. Are you sure this is the best choice? Wait - ask him what?" He turned to Peter. "Hey, kid! What's the capital of England?"

"London."

"Square root of 64?"

"Eight."

"What are three countries bordering Russia and Belarus?"

"Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia."

"Really? Cool!" the man turned back to the phone. "He knows... academic stuff. Look, ma'am, I just think we should keep him here. Yes, I know - there's no food or beds here ... Yes, ma'am." The Adult sighed, and once again looked up at Peter. "Kid, you're going to Middelton."


	3. Chapter 3

"A _school? _ I just fell of a cruise ship, got amnesia, you can't find my parents, and you're sending me to _school?"_

"Well, personally, I think it's a terrible idea, but our boss has a point: there are food and beds there. It was ether that or a hospital."

Peter was in a panic. This was _not_ going according to plan. Now these bumbling fools were wending to _boarding school? _He'd never escape from a place like that! No, he needed to get back to the old navel base, and then he'd be safe. Now, he had a choice. A boarding school_ would_ be the last place his "family" would look. He sighed.

"Middleton it is, then." He'd have time to escape later.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur sat uncomfortably in his coach plane seat. It wasn't the fact that his knees were almost folded to his chest because of the lack of space (though that really wasn't helping). It was the fact that he happened to be sitting next to a _very_ winey frenchmen.

"Are you sure it wasn't Ital -" the man began with a thick accent.

"Feliciano?" suggested Arthur in his own British accent.

"That's right ... he told me recently that he wanted some of his art back."

"No, you scared the poor bloke half to death last time he asked. And on that note, it couldn't be Lovino. He's far to loud to get past security."

"I'm _not_ framing Mario and Luigi, if that's what you're thinking. Why would they want your ... hat. All I'm saying is that they might know something." He sighed. "You and I both know we could have made arrangements where we didn't have to sit in coach -"

"Look, I didn't want Elisabeth to know until it was necessary. And I'm sure you didn't want Lisa's disappearance going public. We need to keep to the shadows. This_ is _what normal people do, right?"

"How should I know?"

The man who happened to be sitting next to them (closest to the window), was only half listening to his iPod. This was because the other half of his attention was focused on his weird ... company.

The British man - Arthur, right? - was short, well dressed, and had untidy blond hair, which was sticking up in inconvenient places. However, his hair was nothing compared to his eyebrows, which looked like large, fuzzy, black caterpillars.

His friend, who had been referred to as Frog, Francis, and France *ahem* Francis, was also blond, taller and effortlessly elegant looking. He was now fidgeting with his empty Coke can.

The two had mentioned visiting a friend in the US, named Alfred, and questioning him about some stolen property. But that's not what was weird about them. It was the way they would address their friends or co-workers, the man thought, when they came up in conversation.

Some times they would use normal names. He had heard Alfred, of corse, Torus, Feliks, Ivan, Feliciano, Lovino, Hercules, Gilbert, Ludwig, Kiku, and Yao. Ok, so maybe not so normal names. But that was more normal that the alternative. Sometimes they referred to countries as if they were people. For example: "Did you hear what happened to Germany's boss? Yeah... I worry about Greece, too. Prussia's getting pretty ticked. Yeah, I know, you frog! But honestly, calling him 'East Germany' is really unnecessary. Romano doesn't mind. In fact, I don't think he likes the title 'South Italy'," or "How's Japan doing, do you know? With the earthquake and all ... It must be tough on him. He's all bedridden and it's sad because he really wants to be out there helping the people. I wouldn't know what to do in his place..."

Yeah. The man sighed. Things like that. He was just about ready to ask the two men if they were part of some secret society, when the plane landed.

"It's a bright and cloudless day in Miami. It's 90 degrees Fahrenheit, so enjoy the weather!" called the flight attendant over the PA system.

When the plane pulled up to the terminal, Arthur whipped out his phone which was playing the Harry Potter theme loudly. He looked a little embarrassed, which was understandable, since Francis was pointing at him and laughing at him in an irritating french way (Ohonhonhonhonhoh).

"'Ello?"

"Sup bro!" Oh great. It was on speaker.

"Alfred, stop bothering us - we just landed."

"I know, dude!"

"You know, you didn't have to meet us at the bloody airport! We're perfectly capable of handling something like this on our own!"

"But we wanted to pick you guys up!"

"We?"

"Gilbert and Matt are here."

"_Gilbert? _ What's _he_ doing here? How many times do I have to abolish that guy? He just keeps coming back to haunt me like some egotistical albino ghost!"

Different voice came from the phone. This time it was a _really thick _German accent. "I can totally hear you, you know?"

"I totally don't care, you know?"

"Dude, Gilbert and Matt are my bros!" said the first voice. "Well, Gil's my un-biological bro. Like you and Francie Pants. Only cooler. They were here for poker night last night, and Gilbert lost all his money, so me and Matt figure if he does cooks, cleans, and does our laundry for two weeks, we'll pay for his flight back to Berlin."

A long pause. Arthur furrowed his caterpillars - I mean eyebrows - and Francis was still snickering. "Shut up," said Gilbert finally.

"I didn't say a bloody thing!"

"But you were going to."

As people started exiting the plane, the conversation dragged on, the mix of foreign accents turning heads. Eventually, the two men walked off with their backpacks to join the other three men mentioned. The first of these three was tall with dirty-blond hair. Part of his bangs stuck up all weird, but judging by his movie-star grin, he didn't care. He was wearing a Captan America t-shirt and had a leather bomber jacket slung over his shoulder. Dark aviators covered his eyes.

The second young man was most certainly the first's brother. The only difference between the two was that this boy had slightly longer, wavy, hair and he seemed to hold himself differently. More closed off to the world. He looked really uncomfortable in his flannel shirt. Arthur could relate : he was wearing a sweater vest. In Miami.

Then there was the third. Obviously Gilbert, just judging by the fact that he was so albino he was almost glowing among the tan floridians. His skin and hair were the same shade of slightly off-white. He was wearing a checkered scarf and shirt which read "I'm Awesome". Every once in a while, a spectator might note, he would pear over his ray-bans, and you could see his eyes, which were dark red. He was also holding a bird cage.

Matthew - the young man in the flannel - walked over to Arthur and Francis with a polite smile. "How was your trip?"

"Meh," was the general response.

"What's wrong?"

"Well you know, Francis_ hates_ being with me for long periods of time and vise versa... And people stared at us all weird the whole time... In fact, they're still doing it now," started Arthur.

"Us? Well, actually, I'm thinking they're staring more or less at _U.S._" Matthew jabbed a thumb at Alfred who was singing and dancing along to poker-face with Gilbert as it blared over the airport speakers. "But that's not what I was asking. I _meant, _what would make you come here on such short notice?"

"Things were stolen. We shouldn't discuss it here. Do you have a car?"

"Eh? Um no... We'll be taking a charter bus back to New York. It'll take just over a day to get there."

"A bloody day? Where the heck_ is_ Miami?"

"Florida," sighed Matthew. Arthur let out a shrill scream. "That's funny," began Matt. "I had the exact same reaction."


	5. Chapter 5

"Is it a public bus?" asked Francis.

"No. I told you, it's charter."

"I _mean_ is it shared with other people?"

"Uh.._. yes?_" said Matthew quietly.

"Now how are we supposed to tell you imbeciles why we are here?"

All five of them walked out into the parking lot, Arthur moving very quickly, muttering something about all the other states they could have landed in. They climbed onto the bus in silence. When they sat down, Alfred finally spoke up. He set his dark shades on top of his head, and his friends noticed that his large blue eyes looked hollow, worried, with dark circles under them.

"I know why you're here. I know you think I had something to do with it, but I don't. I'm a victim here, too."

"A _victim? _What could ever make you thi-"

"He stole the declaration, Iggy," he said to Arthur.

"What?"

"Quoi?"

"Oh mein Gott!"

"Eh? Any Ideas who did it?" asked Matthew.

"I was hoping you'd ask." Alfred's grin flashed once again. "Well, I have to say, it was perfectly executed. Kinda like National Treasure. The security cameras didn't see a thing eater and -"

"Get to the point!"

"Well, when stealing the next best thing to a national monument, it's typically a bad idea to leave your hat on the crime scene." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a faded blue sailor's hat.


	6. Chapter 6

Peter mentally scaled the building has he walked up the front steps of Middleton Prep. It was the huge, classy kind of building that people tend to stay away from unless they get a kick out of being escorted to the street corner by security guards. The attendant stood waiting for him at the door.

She smiled. "You must be Peter Kirkland!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do you want me to take your things to your room?"

"No thank you. I'd rather keep them with me."

"That's alright, I suppose." She looked at him a little strangely, then handed him a pile of 'useful things'. On the top was a school uniform. The attendant pointed. "You can go change in the bathrooms over there."

After Peter had been draped in navy blue, he headed to his first class. Once again, he felt as if things were happening way to fast. He dropped his surplus manilla folder, mailing tube with a plastic bag wrapped around it, and his cake box into his new book bag, and rolled his old gym duffel bag into a ball and shoved it in one of the new bags extra pockets. It looked suspiciously lumpy, but whatever. He was safe for the time being. Or so he thought.

He glanced down at his schedule. It was third hour, sense social services had only found him in the wee hours of morning. Social studies. Great. _Because I don't know squat about world affairs, _a sarcastic voice in the back of his head said. He told the voice to shut up, and at least pretend to be happy. The voice didn't listen.

Peter was severally put-off by the teacher. She seemed nice, well-tempered, and seemed to respect her students. She also explained Peter's "situation". She might as well have rubbed him down in fish sauce and thrown him into a shark tank. If that wasn't bad enough, she opened the new unit: Europe.

As she listed all the nations in Europe in alphabetical order, Peter began to feel... lonely? But that lonesomeness soon changed to anger when the the teacher was through.

"...Turkey, Ukraine, United Kingdom."

His hand shot up.

"Yes?"

"You forgot Seborga , Lichtenstein , and Sealand."


	7. Chapter 7

"No. Bloody. Way."

"They hat don't lie, bro," whispered Gilbert. At that moment his cell phone started to vibrate violently. "Just a second, guys - woah."

"what is the matter?" asked Francis, trying to get a look at the serene.

"I just got, like, a billion texts."

"From who?"

"Well... Europe. Look, this one's from West - ' just finished cleaning up the mess. The entire city of Berlin was trashed. I worked fast, so boss won't find out, but boy do you have some explaining to do'. And this one's form Venice: 'Some jerk drew 'moostaches' on every face painted in the Cistern Chapel. Romano and me are hiding it from the everyone. Do you know anything?' And _this_ one says that quite a few national monuments across Europe have been vandalized, too." He scrolled down a bit. "Looks like he kept his distance from Russia, though...Alfred? Do you think he had help?"

"Who'd be dumb enough to help him?"

"Good point."

Matthew quietly said, "I think it's interesting how nobody wants to tell their bosses."

"Oh my Gosh! Sorry, Matt! I almost forgot you were here!"

Matthew just held his head in his hands and sighed.

"Well _I _think it's interesting that he only targeted Europe and North America. Also why did he only take things from the three of us?" asked Francis.

"Asia's to far, I'll bet the kid doesn't even know that Africa and Australia exist, and I'll bet he took things from us because he hates us the most," said Arthur in a matter-of-fact way.

At that moment, the man who had been sitting next to Francis and Arthur on the plane climbed onto the bus. As the five boys were sitting in the wide back seat of the bus, they were in direct view. At first the man seemed surprised to see them, but then looked away from them as fast as he could.

"Fudge," grumbled Arthur.

"What's wrong?"

"That is the man who sat next to us on the plane. He thinks we're... weird."

"Why would he _ever_ think that?"

"Well, you see, we're quite bad at using conventional names and -"

"What do you _want_ to happen? If you're so careless in the future, we'll all be exploited. Do you know what that means? National secrets revealed! World destruction! And after all that, we'd just be a freak show," Hissed Alfred angrily.

"He's right," said Matt. "You guys need to be more carful."

Just then the-man-who-thought-Arthur-and Francis-were-weird sat directly in front of them.

_Yes, _ Arthur thought, _we need to be more carful._


End file.
